


Once Your Death, Twice My Grief

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Background Wilbur Soot & Tommyinnit, DSMP, Dream Team SMP Lore (Video Blogging RPF), Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I cried so hard while writing this I almost threw up, Implied Phil Watson & Tommyinnit, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Resurrection, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, all platonic obviously just mentioned em here bc their dynamics aren't as relevant, before you ask no im not okay, but only to Wilbur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29796897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Wil— what are you saying?"...The Ghost — Wilbur, standing before him now, shoves his hands in his pocket and shrugs. His smile is a little sadder now, but no less genuine. The pain behind his eyes reflecting Phil’s own.“I think It’s pretty obvious,” He says, his voice small and echo-y, not unlike Ghostbur’s. “I want you to bring back Tommy, instead of me.”———Inspired by Tommyinnit's lore stream on 3/1/2021
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 72
Collections: anonymous





	Once Your Death, Twice My Grief

**Author's Note:**

> look i know Tommy literally just died like 10 hours ago, but, uh *taps on mic* PUT HIM BACK
> 
> more of my fics [here](https://sbiminustubbo.tumblr.com/post/641963273075523584/fanfic-masterlist)

"Wil— what are you saying?"

Phil stands in the remains of what was once L'manberg, a glass roof overhead and red vines all around him. A chill runs up his spine, his feathers on his wings and the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He can't tell if the sudden cold is from being so far below ground, or the presence of the ghost right in front of him.

The ghost of his son.

Not Ghostbur. Not Shlatt. Not whatever that fucked up abomination that was Glattbur. _Wilbur,_ his _son_ , in his truest form, dressed in the clothes he died in. Brown eyes faded but filled with life, his smile so bright and warm. A smile Phil hadn’t seen in so long. A smile he wanted to bring back into his life. A smile he wanted to protect, and never lose again.

And Phil had come so _close_.

He’d gotten the book from Dream. Set up the shrine, gathered the resources, memorized the incantations. Spent hours reading and rereading, double-checking his list to make sure everything was perfect. Everything was set. He made it halfway through the ceremony, reached out his hand, ready to embrace Wilbur after months apart.

But he showed up before he could finish, then asked for the impossible.

The Ghost — Wilbur, standing before him now, shoves his hands in his pocket and shrugs. His smile is a little sadder now, but no less genuine. The pain behind his eyes reflecting Phil’s own.

“I think It’s pretty obvious,” He says, his voice small and echo-y, not unlike Ghostbur’s. “I want you to bring back Tommy, instead of me.”

It’s like a sack of cinder blocks being dropped on him. Poison to Phil’s ears. “That isn’t funny.”

Wilbur tilts his head. “I’m being serious.”

Phil runs his hand down his face in frustration. In truth, he was trying not to cry. Four god damn months. Four god damn months apart and that's the first thing he says to him? He didn’t even give him so much of a hello. No ‘nice to see you’ or welcomed embrace. Just a demand, and a refusal.

He stares at him in disbelief. “Listen to yourself— We— I’ve been planning this for _weeks_. Now that we’re this close, you don’t want—” Phil feels like he’s on the verge of hyperventilating. He was right there within his reach. He could practically _touch_ him. Phil had come so far, and Wilbur was giving up. “ _Are you out of your mind_?”

“I haven’t felt saner in months, actually,” Wilbur chuckles.

Phil’s heart clenches at the memory of his son, delirious and overrun with madness. Fallen leader of a rebellion he betrayed, his country destroyed by his own hands. Commanding his death as some corrupt form of justice.

But Wil was nothing like that now. The bags under his eyes were gone, and his hair is clean and kept. Not a single scar on his face or cuts on his hands. No longer was there a bloody hole in his sweater where Phil’s sword had stabbed through his heart. He’s not the Wilbur of L’manberg anymore. He’s Wilbur Soot Watson, the boy he had raised and the man that left home all those years ago.

His insanity was gone. His mind was clear. He was _him_.

Phil lowers his head, his arms going slack at his side. “Please, don’t do this to me, Wilbur. I- I _can’t_ —”

“Sure you can,” he says, gesturing to the book still gripped in his father’s hands. “You’re almost done. All you need to do is call his name.”

“No, I can’t,” Phil shakes his head. “What you’re expecting of me—”

“All I’m asking is you to save a boy’s life,” Wilbur says confused.

Phil’s shoulders shake as he desperately tries to hold it together. A mixture of anger, sorrow, and regret flowing through him. He can’t breathe. It feels like all of the air has been expelled from his lungs.

“Why,” he finally asks, looking up at Wilbur, tears gathering in his eyes that refuse to fall. “Why him? Why does he have any more right to come back than you do?” After all, Wil died first. He has first dibs more than anything. Phil’s eyes are burning. “Why do you want to save him so badly?”

Wilbur goes quiet, frowning. But it’s not a sad type of frown. More of a contemplative one. He turns his head, staring at where the L’mantree once stood. He’s silent for a long moment, but when he speaks, there’s a knowing look on his face.

“Same reason you want to save me, I suppose.”

Phil slowly shakes his head. He was just some kid. They hadn’t even known each other for more than a few years. It wasn’t the same. How could Wilbur possibly compare the loss of a friend to the loss of a _child_?

“I know he was just a snot-nosed brat to you,” Wil says. “But he was with me through it all. He never left my side, even when it got dangerous.” Wilbur stares up at the sky through the glass ceiling, his expression unreadable. “We took care of each other, and for a while, he’s all I had.” There’s a pause. “...He was like my little brother,” he croaks.

“So that’s it then, he’s supposed to be your replacement!?” Phil shouts in fury, Wilbur’s head snapping to look at him in shock. “What do you expect me to _do_?! Am I just supposed to forget and start over, take him under my wing, care for him as if he were you?” Red hot tears spill down his face as he screams at his son. “CHILDREN AREN’T INTERCHANGEABLE, WIL—”

Wilbur rushed to embrace him, cold arms wrapping around Phil’s back. Phil can’t bring himself to hug him back, his entire body numb. So, he shields him with his broken wings instead. When his son’s hand forces him to rest his head on his shoulder, like Phil had done with Wil many times throughout his life, he finally breaks down. Sorrowful tears fall from his eyes freely, burning his son’s skin.

“That’s not what I’m asking of you, Phil. I would _never_ expect that of you,” Wilbur says shakily, and Phil thinks he may be crying too. “All I want is for Tommy to have a second chance.”

“What about you? What about your second chance? ” Phil chokes out. He pulls the revival potion from his inventory, clutching it in his hand. “I o-only have one.”

Wilbur smiles sadly. “That’s alright, I’m happy where I am now. I don’t deserve it anyway.”

“And he does?”

“He’s just a child, Phil. He made mistakes. He didn’t deserve to die for them.” he laughs. “Me? I was a wrongen, through and through.”

Phil’s breath hitches. “No, no Wilbur, you weren’t—” The words are lost in his blubbering. “E-even good men m-make mistakes.”

“And you’ll make one more.”

Phil wails, bringing his arms to Wil’s shoulders, hugging him tightly. He’s still numb all over, and his knees threaten to give out on him, but he refuses to fall. This will be the last memory he has. He was exhausted from weeks of sleepless nights, but his body can’t give out now, not yet.

They stand there for a long while. Phil doesn’t know how much time has passed, but when Wilbur pulls away, there’s a rigged dent in the ghost’s shoulder from all his tears. He wants to pull him back, hold onto him a bit longer, but he steps out of his reach and starts to glow. It was time for him to go.

“When we see each other next, I’ll be content because I’ll know you’ll have already lived the life you wanted long ago.” Tears roll down Wilbur’s face, burning away his cheeks. Despite it all, he smiles. “You’ve lived for dozens of centuries, thousands of lifetimes — Tommy’s hadn’t started. I can’t rest knowing he died before his life even began.”

Slowly, Wilbur starts floating, being pulled towards the sky by an unknown beam of light. Phil stares in awe before jumping into action, leaping towards his son and grasping for his hand — but he’s just out of reach. He flaps his wings in desperation, but it’s futile. They still haven’t healed. He still can’t fly. The hopelessness makes Phil bawl even harder as he stares up at Wil, helpless.

“I have so many regrets, Phil. I never spent time with him anymore. Never took care of him the way I should,” he yells. “I can’t go back in time. I can’t undo any of it. I can’t even save him!”

“I’m not asking for you to care for or protect him,” he continues, screaming louder as he gets further away. “But _please_ don’t let him fall to ruin because of _my_ sins.” Wilbur phases through the glass that roof above, still screaming. He can’t hear him anymore, but through his tears, Phil sees him mouth, clear as day;

“ _ **Please, save him,**_ ” he pleads in desperation.“ _ **Don’t let it happen again**_.”

Then, just like that, he’s gone. Disappearing into the sky. The world deafeningly quiet in the absence of Wilbur’s screams.

Phil falls to his hands and knees. Already broken, he shatters to pieces on impact, his heart torn from his chest with a pained howl. He was empty, yet full of emotion; feeling nothing and everything all at once. Once, Wilbur had lived, and once he died. Twice was he ripped out of Phil’s arms, twice did he grieve.

He wanted to give up. Fall over and let himself die, so he can join his son in death. Let his ancient body rot and fester as he left this mortal coil behind. Die of a broken heart after years of surviving the impossible.

But he can’t. Not yet. _Not now_.

Out of the corner of his eye, the revival potion glistens in in sunlight, pink and vibrant.

_“...I can’t rest knowing he died before his life even began.”_

Wil would never forgive him.

It takes every ounce of strength he has left to sit up, his breathing shaky and labored. He squints as he reads the remaining half of the incantation, tears blocking his vision, fumbling over words, and only stopping to catch his breath every other minute. It was rushed and messy, but he only had until sundown before the potion was null. Then it would have all been for nothing. It would be more than a decade for the conditions to be just right to make another.

The wind swirls around him as he picks up speed, no longer chanting of his own volition, but the words pouring from his mouth on their own. A portal opens before him, blinding white light and heat flowing from it in waves. He shields his eyes with a hand and grips the potion, holding it tight against his chest as he struggles to stand. The portal gets wider and wider, the size of a door now, a faint pull attempting to suck him in.

It reaches its apex and the words stop. A figure appears, floating in the center of it in a fetal position. With all the strength he can muster, Phil throws the potion. It spins through the air in slow motion, the world around him coming to a standstill — and it hits the figure dead on.

Tommy appears out of thin air, rolling across the ground before stopping several feet in front of him.

Phil falls to his knees, picking the boy up and holding him in his arms as he cries, shaking. He’s confused and disorientated, his eye blown wide, blinded by fear and the impossibly bright light from before. He screams, _begging_ for Dream to stop, punching and kicking.

Even still, Phil holds him, tears falling from his face as he rocks in place.

“ _You’re alright, you’re alright,”_ he soothes between his own sobs.

He watches the portal shrink little by little before closing, refusing to look anywhere but the boy in his arms. He tucks him closer to his chest, placing a hand over his face. (To shield him from the blinding light of the portal or to hide his face, Phil doesn’t know).

Phil closes his eyes and buries his face in Tommy’s hair, so for a moment, if only a moment — he can pretend it’s Wil.

“Your home now,” he says, the lie not bringing comfort like he desperately wanted. “You’re home.”

**Author's Note:**

> *REPEADETLY STUBS MY TOE BY KICKING MY DOOR* IT'S A COLD AND ITS A BROKE HALLELUJAAAAAA
> 
> *inhales*
> 
> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA


End file.
